Termination
by KaitlynAnn
Summary: Harley, through no fault of her own this time, finds herself in a compromising position and is sure Mistah J is going to be beyond furious when she tells him what has happened. Will he finally get rid of her or will he do something completely unexpected? Rated T for mature themes.


_A/N: So, this is not only the first piece of fan fiction that I have written in a couple of years, but it is also my first starring these two crazy clowns. Exciting! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated!_

Termination

He hadn't reacted at all like she'd expected. And she felt she'd become pretty adept at predicting his reactions; she'd been with him for eight years now. It was something she'd had to pick up pretty quick if she was ever going to keep up with him and make his incredibly busy life any easier for him. After all, it was the very least she could do. She wasn't nearly as creative or inspiring as he was... not to mention her intellect touched nowhere near his own incredible level of genius. He had to worry about and tend to all of the bigger, more important things in their lives (for she could never do it). So it was her responsibility to take care of all the little things that would make everything run smoother.

So when that little stick of damnation had threatened to uproot the life she had worked so hard to maintain, she was almost positive she was about to receive the kiss of death.

Mistah J was going to be far beyond furious with her. She'd really screwed up big this time and she had thought that, for sure, it was going to be the end of her; even worse, the end of_ them_.

But... he hadn't been.

She had been putting off telling him, trying in vain to find some other way to deal with the situation without him finding out. But he always did. It was foolish to try and hide things from her brilliant Puddin' and she knew from past experience that things always turned out far worse if - no - _when _he discovered she was trying to keep secrets. He considered it a great insult not only to himself, but to the devotion and trust she was supposed to have in him. After all, who was there left for her to turn to if she couldn't trust her Mistah J? He'd made that point painfully clear to her the first time he had quickly discovered she was trying to keep something from him... with his fists.

Afterwards, she had felt immensely embarrassed and ashamed of herself for going behind his back like that. How could she be counted upon when she acted so immature?

So, after standing outside the door to his office for a good twenty minutes as she tried to desperately calm her nerves down, she'd finally decided that if she waited any longer, she was going to explode. She'd knocked tentatively, so softly that she almost hoped he wouldn't hear it and she'd just cut her losses and leave it at that.

But he'd heard.

"What is it now, Harls?" she'd heard him ask from behind the closed door. His voice betrayed no clues as to the current mood he was in. Anything could happen. She really hoped she wasn't bothering him... he was always so busy, after all.

"M-Mistah J, there's somethin' I need to talk to ya about," she said softly as she hesitantly walked into the office. He was sitting at an angle behind his large mahogany desk, spat clad wing tips up on it's hard shiny surface as he leaned back in his high backed purple chair and lazily twirled a letter opener in his right hand. His emerald gaze was intense but steady, still not disclosing any hints to his present state of mind.

Harley stood a few feet in front of the desk, anxiously wringing her small hands, head down in remorse as she fixed her eyes onto the dark plush carpeting beneath her feet. How on earth was she going to find the courage to tell him? There was nothing worse than making him angry or _disappointed _in her. It made her feel sick to her stomach; her palms feel hot and slippery; her muscles tense; her heart beat fast and not in the way she liked. The crushing weight of knowing that she had let him down was far more than she her tiny, frail shoulders could bear. She knew of nothing worse he could do to her than that of taking away the faith he had placed in her.

She tried so hard to be deserving of his trust. But she constantly found herself failing, again and again, never living up to the expectations he had known she was truly capable of. Why could she never do anything right?! He had chosen her, she knew, because she was different; she wasn't like the rest of them! They were similar, deep down... the two of them.

They were two of a kind.

He'd said so himself.

So why could she never be the woman she knew he deserved?

"Well?" he said a little impatiently, his voice breaking her out of her reverie. Ah jeez, how long had she been standing here silently, lost in her own mind when he had so graciously taken time out of his schedule to listen to what she so desperately needed to say to him? _Idiot! _her mind screeched at her. _You don't deserve to be with someone like him… you can't even talk to him without stumbling. You're lucky he's put up with your inadequacies this long._

Something warm suddenly began to travel down her soft cheeks, her vision blurring as her eyes prickled and stung. Harley wiped at her eyes with her dainty little hands as she realized they were tears. _And now you're crying… come on! You know how he hates to see you cry… can't you ever just smile and be happy for him?_

"Harley, why are you crying?" he asked, a touch of confusion in his hard voice. She looked up at him then, his face having remained mostly unchanged other than the one green eyebrow that was now up in interest. He continued to twirl the letter opener around in his long, gloved fingers, the blade catching and throwing the light as it went 'round and 'round.

Harley focused on the twirling. "I'm sorry, Puddin'. I-I dunno how it happened, I really don't," she started, the words tumbling ungracefully out of her mouth like gumballs. "I didn't forget or miss any days, I know. All of the days up to today are empty, so I know I didn't miss any..." she continued to fumble. The blade continued to spin.

"Harley, spit it out." he commanded, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. To anyone else, it wouldn't have been noticeable. But to her... well, she had become incredibly perceptive to all of his smallest but most significant movements, especially those that suggested he was hiding something: she caught every extra blink, every slight twitch of his fingers. To her, it was as obvious as if he had spoken the action out loud. Even if she _was _still desperately trying to focus on the twirling.

She knew he wasn't aware of her newly developed sensitivity. Had he been, she knew she would have been killed a very long time ago. Her Puddin' was all about control, especially when it came to anything that might suggest a vulnerability or a weakness.

And for anyone else, they never saw any more than what he allowed them to.

But around her, he had unknowingly lost the ability to maintain his perfect poker face. There was a veil, albeit a very very thin, almost transparent film, that he had accidently removed from her gaze. She never let on that she knew, that she saw more than what she was allowed to see. She guarded the secret as if it were a delicate rose, making sure to never ruffle it too much so as to knock some of it's frail petals off. It wasn't something she necessarily went out of her way to try and hide from him so he never found any suspicious behavior to question.

And she knew the thought of him no longer having complete and perfect control over any slips that might let on to what was really going on inside that brilliant mind of his would never cross him. It was an inconceivable impossibility to him. Her Puddin' was so strong and -

"Harley!" he said, his voice louder and more forceful; a sharper edge to it. She'd stopped talking again.

"I'm pregnant!" she abruptly blurted.

The twirling stopped.

She gasped and brought her fists up to cover her mouth as she tensed and prepared herself for the fury that she knew was about to unleash itself from within him.

Seconds went by, turning into minutes. Everything was still and silent. Their gazes were locked: Harley's, full of contrition and guilt, the Joker's blank and unreadable. The air within the room was electric, charged and sparking like a broken wire that had fallen into a puddle. _This is it, _she thought. _He's going to kill me with that blasted letter opener that has now gone still._

Her thoughts began running rampantly through her mind, barreling out of control like an unmanned train going eighty miles an hour, heading for a sharp curve in the tracks. Everything was about to derail and fall apart, right in front of her and there hadn't been anything she could do to stop it. She'd tried so hard... so, so hard.

She looked to the still unmoving letter opener in his hand. _Spin, _she thought desperately.

_Spin!_

_Spin so I know everything isn't over! I'm not ready to leave him yet… I love him, I do! I really do! I didn't do it on purpose, Puddin'. Please believe me! Look into my eyes and see that it was an accident. Please, Mistah J, I didn't want this, I really did try…_

_Please Joker… don't end it._

_Spin._

The letter opener began to slowly twirl in his fingers again.

Harley's eyes went wide with astonishment as she hesitantly relaxed just a bit. "M-mistah J...?" she said quietly, as if she were afraid the sound of her voice would break whatever was keeping the Joker from launching himself right up and over the desk and across the room, burying the opener's blade right between her eyes. She didn't want to go out that way.

"All right," he finally said, breaking down all the tension that had been steadily building itself up within the room. He picked up the receiver to the purple phone that was sitting on the corner of his desk, punching in a number before lifting it to his ear.

Harley stood, confused and afraid, listening to the muffled ringing coming from the other side. Her hands were shaking, palms slick with moisture as she began to frantically twist and pull at the bottom of her red PJ shirt. Blood began to trickle into her mouth as she broke the skin to her bottom lip that she had been gnawing restlessly at. Finally, she heard the ringing stop and the faint sound of the short greeting of whoever was on the other end.

"I've got a job for you, Johnny," he said, sounding a little exhausted, to the voice of the man whose name was no doubt something other than "Johnny", sliding his green eyes back over to the small girl who was anxiously waiting to see what her fate would be. She couldn't decide if he looked disappointed or... simply tired. Her frayed nerves were making it hard for her to think. What was he going to do? "Send up a couple of the boys and get the car ready," he said, hanging up the phone.

_Oh God, Oh God, _her mind began to panic. _Please Puddin', don't kill me! Please, it was an accident! At least do the job _yourself_ if this is what must be done, please don't have somebody else do it! If I'm going to die, I want it to be by _your _hand! Not some stranger! Please Joker, don't do this… _her mind rambled, fresh tears springing from her eyes and cascading down her face. She had always imagined herself dying by his loving hand. He'd created her; sculpted and molded and taught her everything she now came to hold dear. He'd always taken great pride in that.

She was one of his greatest masterpieces.

To have someone else kill her just wasn't fair!

Just then, the door to his office opened and a large, dark haired man stepped through, leaving two more heavily muscled men standing outside in the hall, waiting for their next order.

"What'dya need, boss?"

_-ooOoo-_

He hadn't reacted at all like she'd expected.

As it turned out, he'd given the boys a large wad of cash and had told them to take her to an abortion clinic located in a smaller, out of the way city a couple hundred miles from Gotham. It had been a rather lonely and somewhat awkward car ride there, but then again, she figured she was probably the only one who felt that way; she doubted the boys even gave a rat's ass.

Joker had stayed behind, unsurprisingly. She knew very well that he wouldn't have been able to come with her, even if he had wanted to: his unmistakable appearance had blown that small flicker of hope out. He could've ridden along with her, she supposed, but she also knew he was very busy and had far more important things he needed to be tending to.

The chances that she would've been recognized going into one of the many small abortion clinics located within Gotham were slim, but she knew her Puddin' wouldn't want to risk it. Especially if she _were _happened to be recognized.

Everyone would know _exactly _who the father was.

And that was something the fellas in the Gallery would never let him forget. The thought of him possibly having a child, of him actually assuming the title of "parent" and "father" was incredulous, laughable. So, the more discreet, the better. This entire issue was to be swept beneath the rug and disappear forever.

Harley wasn't sure if the men who accompanied her to the clinic were aware of their impending doom. She knew her Mistah J wasn't going to let them continue on living knowing what they now knew. They had, by no fault of their own, become loose strings that had to be taken care of.

By the time she had returned home, she was exhausted and was beginning to feel dizzy and fatigued. With the help of two of the boys, she made it into the bedroom that she and Mistah J shared and was left alone to undress and put on a fresh pair of pajamas. It took all of her remaining energy and strength to undress herself before she collapsed onto the large bed and fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep, her naked sleeping form surrounded in purple satin sheets.

Sometime later (she wasn't sure how much time had passed) she slowly opened her eyes to see her Puddin' standing at the edge of their bed, glass of water in one hand and the other turned palm face up. During her slumber, she had kicked away all of the covers and had proceeded to make the bed one big mess of tangled fabric.

"I believe you're supposed to take these, now," he said.

She sat up and closed her eyes as she waited for the whooshing in her ears to cede and for the ground to steady itself instead of rocking like the deck of a boat. As soon as she was sure she would be able to take a hold of the glass without dropping it, she reached out with a trembling hand and took it.

He dropped two small white tablets in the shape of hexagons into her other hand.

She raised her open palm to her mouth and popped the two pills in, guzzling down the glass of water and swallowing the medication. He took the empty glass away from her and put it onto the table beside the bed. He proceeded to gently push her bare shoulders back down onto the bed, her head falling against the lavender pillows as he began to untangle and reorganize the silky sheets. As soon as he had undone the mess she had accidently made, he laid the sheets out across the bed and over her weak form, taking some extra time to tuck the fabric in around her still naked body. She felt like a caterpillar in a cocoon, getting ready to transform.

After he was satisfied with the arrangement of the sheets, he made his way over to the his side of the bed, opening up the drawer to the other nightstand. He reached inside and took out the small, semi-automatic pistol that was stored away inside and proceeded to insert a fresh magazine.

"Puddin'... what're ya gonna use that for?" she asked meekly as he pulled back on the slide and released it, racking the gun. She knew very well what he was going to be using it for.

"Nothing that you need to be worrying your pretty little blonde head about, cupcake," he responded, one corner of his crimson mouth pulling up into a sinister sneer as he examined the gun with a malignant and mischievous gleam in his eye.

Then, almost merrily, he made his way back over to her side of the bed and bowed down to give her a quick peck on her forehead, lightly chucking her under the chin as he straightened back up, giving her a boysih grin that melted her heart.

"Daddy's going to go have some fun with the boys while you count sheep, punkin," he said, making his way to the door of their bedroom as his eyes continued to sparkle with that dangerous delight she had come to love so much. She smiled and closed her eyes, the innuendo not bothering her in the slightest as she snuggled further down into her purple cocoon.

The Joker softly shut the door to their room on his way out.

And as Harley began to drift away on the soft, fluffy clouds of peaceful slumber, she was only vaguely aware of the occasional "bang!" and "pop!" that randomly interrupted the far off chorus of panicked screaming and merry laughter.

So he hadn't reacted at all like she'd expected.

But she damn well liked the reaction she'd gotten.

_A/N: This is the first time I've ever written these two. Harley isn't… terribly difficult to write. She has a personality eerily similar to mine so I find her to be a bit of an easier character to write. The Joker, however… well, he's a different matter entirely. I tried my best to keep him in character as much as possible and, to be honest, I feel as though this might be how he'd approach that kind of situation. (Except for maybe that little bit of fluff I put in at the end… that's just how it rolled out.)_

_I feel that he would see it as far too much of a waste to simply kill Harley if her birth control failed at one point and she ended up getting pregnant (him being the father, obviously. If she had gotten pregnant from someone other than him, we'd have an _entirely _different story on our hands in which, I am certain, a lot more bodies would be hitting the floor). He sees her as a work of art and he put a lot of time into making her. It'd be a horrible waste of, not only his time, but an utterly obedient and devoted follower… or whatever._

_Anyway, Joker obviously wouldn't be above killing an unborn child, so I like to think that this might be how he'd deal with an accidental/unwanted pregnancy. I also do think he'd want to keep it a secret. I'm sure the other members of the Rogue Gallery would see it as an opportunity to grate on his nerves and he would have none of that._

_So there you have it! Reviews and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoyed this short bit._

_Also, the two pills he handed Harley at the end there were misoprostol. It was early enough in her pregnancy that she could have the pregnancy medically terminated versus surgically. Note: this in no way demonstrates my views on abortion and whether I am prolife or prochoice. That is neither here nor there and doesn't apply to the story in any way._


End file.
